


Letter Home

by partofthedisease



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Maybe the true parents were the camp counselors we met along the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partofthedisease/pseuds/partofthedisease
Summary: There's a reason why Max doesn't want to write home to his parents. David finds out the hard way.





	Letter Home

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this before the season finale, so I guess this fic is what would have happened if there was no "Parents' Day." Hope you enjoy!

_Dear Mom and Dad-_

Shit. Scrap the "dear" part. That's a load of bull.

_Mom and Dad,  
Things are fine at camp._

The mess hall was completely empty. Its doors were locked, its kitchen abandoned- the sun hadn't even begun to make its way to Sleepy Peak yet, and the rest of the camp was fast asleep. Max sat alone at one of the wooden tables, a pen and notebook in front of him, surrounded by darkness with the exception of a flashlight. He thought for awhile, chewing on his pen in thought, before tacking an "I guess" onto the end of the statement and scratching out "fine" in favor of "tolerable."

_So far I've gotten poison ivy twice, lice once, and I have so many bug bites my body looks like a goddamn pointillism painting. But, y'know, things aren't bad. Better than at home._

Max reread the lines, nodded in approval, adding, _Way better than at home. And last night the camp bully blew up a stink bomb in my tent and I had to sleep in the fuckin' lake, so if that's not getting my point across I don't know what will._

He inhaled deeply, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Now tears were threatening to fall. This wasn't just a letter home anymore, and perhaps, in a way, it never was. Jotting down his every thought, no matter how angry or crass, was Max's current form of venting, the alternative to the ice cube across the skin or screaming into a pillow.

 _That's really fucking saying something,_ Max continued, blinking back hot, angry tears as the pen scribbled its way across the lined paper and left scratches of ink in its wake, _I'd rather be at this dumb camp than back at home. I hate it there, but I hate it here, too, and it's like I don't belong_ anywhere. _The world is such a fucked up place full of crazy ass people and I'm stuck in the middle, like always, with no one there to liste-_

Max's voice echoed through the mess hall, loud and harsh. He blinked. When had he started talking out loud?

He stared down at the paper, feeling disappointment like a bullet wound deep in his chest. Damn. He couldn't fake being happy for even a second, could he? How pathetic could you _get?_

Sighing, exasperated, Max tore the sheet from its pad before crumpling it up and shoving it into the pocket of his hoodie. It rustled against the other balled-up letters that hadn't made the cut. He grabbed the pen and started again:

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

"Max?"

Max froze, gritting his teeth and gripping the pen hard. It was three in the morning, what in the hell was _he_ doing up? He turned to shine his flashlight at David, who stood in the doorway, his confused expression pale against the harsh white light.

"David," Max spat. He set the flashlight down and slowly slipped the notepad into his hoodie pocket.

"Now, just what in the world are you doing up this late? And in the mess hall, for that matter!" David held up a large ring of keys. "How did you even manage to get in here?"

"Camp Man doesn't even know his own camp's weak spots?" Max sneered. "The back door to the kitchen has a broken latch, you idiot."

David bristled, making a mental note to have the Quartermaster look into this. "You know the Camp Campbell rules and regulations handbook states all areas of the campgrounds with the exception of the outhouses are off limits after 10pm," he chastised with a frown, hands on his hips as he crossed the room.

"Those lame ass handbooks? We used them to start a campfire," Max stated plainly.

 _"Campfire?"_ David was incredulous. "Wasn't Gwen supposed to teach you all how to use rocks and tinder?"

"Using the books was Gwen's idea. And anyway, what are _you_ doing up? Shouldn't you be- I dunno, having wet dreams about nature, or something?" 

"I- wanted a glass of water," David replied, face flushing. His expression hardened. "A-and you still haven't answered my question. How long have you been out here?"

"Couple hours." Max narrowed his eyes. "What's it to _you,_ anyway?"

David frowned, running a hand through his mussed up hair. "Listen," he began, "normally I would brush this off. I understand that you're fond of... doing things your own way, so to speak, and that nobody's the boss of you..."

 _This guy's finally starting to get it._ Max folded his arms across his chest and smiled smugly.

"...but I heard you shouting." Max tensed at this. "You sounded angry, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He stared David down, eye twitching. David had seen, he'd _heard_. "You were fucking _spying_ on me?" Max demanded. 

"I was getting water!" insisted David, raising his hands in defense. His tone softened, and he knelt down to Max's level, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Max, if something's bothering you-"

Max shrunk away from his counselor. _"You're_ bothering me, David," he snapped, jumping from his seat. He glared daggers at David, who stared back, hurt. "I don't need you or anyone else worrying about me. I can take care of myself. _I'm fine."_

David opened his mouth, then closed it. _He won't listen to anything I have to say,_ he realized at last, _There's nothing I can do._ He hung his head, silent. 

"So get your stupid glass of water, I'll go back to my tent, and we can forget this ever happened." Max pushed past David, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. One of the balled-up letters fell out, unbeknownst to Max, and tumbled across the floor to land at David's feet. 

Puzzled, David reached down to examine it. He began unfolding it, and it was then that Max turned around, glare turning cold. He stared David down, challenging him to look away, to speak, to _move._ "I swear to God," Max uttered, "if you read that you're a _dead man."_

David swallowed. His stare wandered from Max to the paper in his hand, curiosity causing his fingers to twitch.

"I'm not dicking around, _David,"_ Max said loudly, voice betraying him as it cracked. His face grew hot with embarrassment. "You'd better not or I'll-"

Biting his lip, David made his decision and quickly uncrumpled the paper. "You nosy bastard!" Max shouted, charging at him. David kept Max away with one hand, wincing at his protests, and held the paper out of reach with the other. He glanced over the page, eyes widening at the words, "Dear Mom and Dad." He felt a twinge of hurt, followed by a wave of guilt for invading Max's privacy. Silently, he lowered his hands and let the paper drift to the floor.

Max snatched it and shoved it back into his pocket, tears pricking the corners of his eyes when several more letters fell out. Growling frustratedly, he kicked at them, sending them skittering across the room like rats.

His chest heaved, his throat burned, and his eyes stung. His gaze snapped back to David, who stood, mouth agape, eyes glued to where the many wads of crumpled up letters lay scattered on the floor. Slowly, his gaze traveled to Max. He expected the camper to be glaring up at him, but instead Max looked _betrayed._ He stared at David with eyes that shone with tears, nose running slightly, and hands balled into fists at his sides.

"I am _so_ sorry, Max, I-"

"Fuck you." Max's voice held no emotion. His gaze had turned stormy. 

"I was only trying to help," David continued quickly, "I didn't-"

"Shut up." 

David bit his lip, eyes lowered with shame, and waited for Max to speak once more. 

"Yesterday. You asked us all to write letters to our parents." Max looked down, eyebrows furrowed. "Bet you thought I was just bein' a little bitch about it, right? Like I was too good to write my own parents to tell them how I'm doing. That wasn't why I didn't write one, though." He sat down at one of the tables and drew his knees to his chest. "It's 'cause- I know they wouldn't care enough to read it."

David's mouth fell open. "Max, that's- that's not true. It can't be," was all he could manage. 

Max's eyes snapped to his, hurt flashing across his face. "Yeah? And what makes you so sure, huh?"

"Well...what parents _wouldn't_ want to read something their child wrote them?" David questioned carefully, giving a sliver of a smile. "Especially if their child was as creative, determined, and gifted as you?"

"Let's see, the abusive, negligent, uncaring ones? The ones that pay over a thousand dollars to get away from their kids for three months out of the year? Those parents? _My_ parents?" Max snapped, and David's smile broke in half. "And cut the bullshit, I don't need your pity. I'm not special or determined or whatever the hell else you said."

They were quiet for some time. Max scratched furiously at a mosquito bite hidden in his sleeve. David stared out the window and mulled over Max's words. "You know," David began quietly, "I think you are, Max. More than you realize."

Max looked up and scowled. "What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"I mean, just look at all of these!" He gestured to the discarded papers on the floor. "It must have taken you _hours_ to write all those letters. Even if they didn't turn out the way you wanted them to, _that's_ dedication," David told him. 

Max's glare was unfaltering. "It's pathetic."

"It's _caring,_ " David corrected, placing a hand on Max's shoulder. "Caring isn't a bad thing, Max. It's... well, gosh, it's _human."_

Max didn't reply.

"I'm sorry I invaded your privacy," David continued, and Max could hear the sincerity in his voice as he spoke. "It was uncalled for, unprofessional, and, well, it was just plain wrong. You didn't deserve that at all, and if you hate me for it, I won't blame you. But you shouldn't be afraid of opening up to others. Even if you get hurt, you just gotta pick yourself up and find people that care about you too. Because there _are_ people who care about you, Max, I promise. And you'll know it when you find them."

There was another lull of silence, yet this time, there was no tension in the air. Max's glare fell, and he stared at the floor, thinking. "What you did was a dick move," he muttered at last, and he looked up, pointing a finger at David. "And don't go getting your hopes up at this or anything, you're still the bane of my existence. But, uh... I don't hate you any more than I already do. Or something. Whatever."

David smiled softly. "Well, I'm glad to hear it." He got to his feet, stretching. "Now, I think that glass of water is long overdue. Are you ready to go back to your tent, or are you planning on staying here for a bit longer?"

Max blinked. "You'd... you'd let me stay? In here?" David nodded. "But what about the rulebook?"

"Well, thanks to _Gwen_ we don't really have a rulebook anymore, so I guess I can let things slide just this once. But don't stay up too late, okay? We've got a beautiful day ahead of us that starts bright and early!" David stated cheerily, reaching over to tousle Max's hair. Max recoiled, grumbling incoherently. 

"And this whole thing," he told David. "It never happened." Max stuck out his hand. "Agreed?"

David shook it firmly. "Agreed," he said, "but if something's ever wrong, even the littlest thing, you can talk to me about it any time you want, okay?"

Max shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, sure," he muttered. "Not likely, but whatever."

 

David awoke with the sun, yawning as it's gold rays met the counselor's cabin by the lake. It had only been a few hours since the incident with Max, but despite the lack of sleep he felt happy, giddy, even. The two had made progress, and David was fairly sure he wasn't too high on Max's enemy list anymore.

"Things are looking up, alright!" he stated aloud, and made an attempt to sit up, when he felt something holding him down. He glanced down and saw a piece of paper, pinned to his shirt (which was pinned to the mattress) with thumbtacks. Frowning, David removed the tacks, yelping when a few pricked his fingers, and read the paper:

_David,_

__

__

_The whole letter to my parents thing didn't work out, so I decided to write to you instead._

David's eyes widened.

_This camp sucks. Seriously, if there was a Richter scale for camps, this would be, like, a solid seven. But I mean, I'm not dead yet, so I guess it's not the end of the world. And if it was, it's like you said- I just gotta find people that remotely give a shit. And maybe then I'll be happy._

__

__

__

_Thanks,_

__

__

__

_Max_

__

"Not my exact words," David to himself with a smile, "but close enough." He folded the letter, tucked it into his nightstand, and went outside to greet the sun. Today was a new day.

__

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, I think this is the fastest I've ever finished writing a fic, and I couldn't have done it without you guys. Big thanks to everyone on Tumblr who motivated me to get it done :) Critiques and reviews are appreciated!


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